Richard Matheson - What Dreams May Come

I was in the entry hall without transition. Dream, I thought and nodded, satisfied. I looked around, my vision still blurred. Wait, I thought. I’d been able to dispel the pain, why not the vision?

Nothing happened. Everything beyond ten feet was still obscured by what appeared to be a pall of smoke.

I whirled at the clicking noise of claws across the kitchen floor. Ginger was running into the front hall; you recall, our German Shepherd. She saw me and began her rocking, bouncing run of joy. I spoke her name, delighted by the sight of her. I bent to stroke her head and saw my hand sink deep into her skull. She recoiled with a yelp and scuttled back in terror, bumping hard against the kitchen door jamb, ears pressed tight to her head, hair erected on her back.

“Ginger,” I said. I fought away a sense of dread. “Come here.” She’s acting foolishly, I told myself. I moved after her and saw her slipping frantically on the kitchen floor, trying to run away. “Ginger!” I cried. I wanted to be irritated with her but she looked so frightened that I couldn’t be. She ran across the family room and lunged out through the flap of the dog door.

I was going to follow her, then decided not to. I would not be victimized by this dream no matter how insane it got. I turned and called Ann’s name.

No answer to my call. I looked around the kitchen, seeing that the coffee maker was on, its pair of red bulbs burning. The glass pot on the heater plate was almost empty. I managed a smile. She’s done it again, I thought. In no time, the house would be per-p-e-r-me-at-ed with a reek of burning coffee. I reached out to pull the plug, forgetting. My hand went through the wire and I stiffened, then forced back amusement. You can’t do anything right in dreams, I reminded myself.

I searched the house. Our bedroom and the bathroom. Ian’s and Marie’s rooms, their connecting bathroom. Richard’s room. I ignored the blurring of my vision. That was unimportant, I decided.

What I found myself unable to ignore was an increasing lethargy I felt. Dream or not, my body felt like stone. I went back inside our bedroom and sat on my side of the bed. I felt a twinge of uneasiness because it didn’t shift beneath me; it’s a water bed. Forget it, a dream’s a dream, I told myself. They’re insane, that’s all.

I looked at my clock-radio, leaning close to see the hands and numbers. It was six fifty-three. I looked out through the glass door. It wasn’t dark outside. Misty but not dark. Yet how could it be morning if the house was empty? At this time, they should all be in their beds.

“Never mind,” I said, struggling to get it all together in my mind. You’re being operated on. You’re dreaming this. Ann and the children are at the hospital waiting for-

A new confusion struck me. Was I really in the hospital? Or had that been part of the dream too ? Was I actually asleep on this bed, dreaming everything ? Maybe the accident had never occurred. There were so many possibilities, each one affecting the next. If only I could think more clearly. But my mind felt numb. As though I’d been drinking or taken sedation.

I lay down on the bed and closed my eyes. It was the only thing to do; I knew that much. Presently, I’d wake up with the truth: a dream in the hospital while under anesthesia or a dream in my bed while asleep. I hoped it was the latter. Because, in that case, I’d wake up to find Ann lying by my side and could tell her what a crazy dream I’d had. Hold her lovely warmth in my arms and kiss her tenderly and laugh as I told her how bizarre it is to dream of dreaming.

I WAS EXHAUSTED BUT I COULDN’T REST, MY SLEEP BROKEN BY Ann’s crying. I tried to rise, to comfort her. Instead, I hovered in a limbo between darkness and light. Don’t cry, I heard myself murmur. I’ll wake up soon and be with you. Just let me sleep a while. Please don’t cry; it’s all right, sweetheart. I’ll take care of you.

Finally, I was forced to open my eyes. I wasn’t lying down but standing in a mist. I started walking slowly toward the sound of her crying. I was tired, Robert, groggy. But I couldn’t let her cry. I had to find out what was wrong and end it so she wouldn’t cry like that. I couldn’t bear to hear her cry like that.

I moved into a church I’d never seen before. All the pews were filled with people. Their forms were gray, I couldn’t see their features. I walked down the middle aisle, trying to understand why I was there. What church was this? And why was the sound of Ann’s crying coming from here?

I saw her sitting in the front pew, dressed in black, Richard on her right, Marie and Ian to her left. Next to Richard, I could see Louise and her husband. All of them were dressed in black. They were easier to see than the other people in the church yet even they looked faded, ghostlike. I could still hear the sobbing even though Ann was silent. It’s in her mind , it came to me; and our minds are so close I hear it. I hurried toward her to stop it.

I stopped in front of her. “I’m here,” I said.

She looked ahead as though I hadn’t spoken; as though I weren’t there at all. None of them looked toward me. Were they embarrassed by my presence and pretending not to see? I glanced down at myself. Perhaps it was my outfit. Hadn’t I been wearing it a long time now? It seemed as though I had although I wasn’t sure.

I looked back up. “All right,” I said. I had difficulty speaking; my tongue felt thick. “All right,” I repeated slowly. “I’m not dressed correctly. And I’m late. That doesn’t mean . . .”My voice trailed off because Ann kept looking straight ahead. I might have been invisible. “Ann, please ,” I said.

She didn’t move or blink. I reached out to touch her shoulder.

She twitched sharply, looking up, her face gone blank.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

The crying in her mind abruptly surfaced and she jerked her left hand up to cover her eyes, trying to repress a sob. I felt a numbing pain inside my head. What’s wrong? I thought. “Ann, what’s wrong? ” I pleaded.

She didn’t answer and I looked at Richard. His face was tight, tears running down his cheeks. “Richard, what is going on? ” I asked. My words sounded slurred as though I were drunk.

He didn’t answer and I looked at Ian. “Will you please tell me?” I asked. I felt a stab of anguish looking at him. He was sobbing quietly, rubbing shaky fingers at his cheeks, trying to brush away the tears that fell from his eyes. What in the name of God? I thought.

Then I knew. Of course . The dream ; it still continued. I was in the hospital being operated on-no, I was asleep on my bed and dreaming- whatever! flared my mind. The dream was continuing and now it included my own funeral.

I had to turn away from them; I couldn’t stand to watch them crying so. I hate this stupid dream! I thought. When was it going to end?!

It was torment to me to be turned away when, just behind me, I could hear Ann and the children sobbing. I felt a desperate need to turn and comfort them. To what avail though? In my dream, they mourned my death. What good would it do for me to speak if they believed me dead?

I had to think of something else; it was the only answer. The dream would change, they always did. I walked toward the altar, following the drone of a voice. The minister, I realized. I willed myself to feel amused. That might be fun, I told myself. Even in a dream, how many men receive the chance to listen to their own eulogy?

I saw his blurred, gray outline now, behind the pulpit. His voice sounded hollow and distant. I hope he’s giving me a royal send-off, I thought, bitterly.